


take care of you

by flootzavut



Series: rotten work [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blanket Permission, Canon-adjacent, Justice for fuzzy Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Purring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Resolved Sexual Tension, Scenting, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Touch-Starved Jaskier | Dandelion, Utter disregard for canon, Yearning, idiots to lovers, queer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:01:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23534965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/pseuds/flootzavut
Summary: ... gods, he owes Jaskier an apology.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: rotten work [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646047
Comments: 45
Kudos: 699





	take care of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alleyesonthehindenburg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alleyesonthehindenburg/gifts), [pr0serpina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pr0serpina/gifts).



> Big thanks to Pina for looking it over.
> 
> Followup to "not to me. not if it's you."
> 
> Fair warning, I am working on the assumption that this will have at least one more chapter and will get smutty, but right now I've not even pinned down which POV is gonna happen, so it might be a while before it's finished...

* * *

_**take care of you** _

* * *

Geralt wakes with something tickling his nose and a familiar, comforting scent in his nostrils. He's a little out of it, warm and cosy, and doesn't want to move. He stretches and snuggles down into - oh. Into what he suddenly realises is a body.

"Geralt?"

The world comes rushing back with Jaskier's voice, which is high-pitched and uncertain. More pieces fall into place as Geralt remembers fighting the unexpectedly solitary bruxa, then returning to their campsite full of unused energy, potions still swirling around in his bloodstream and- gods, he owes Jaskier an apology. _Shit_. He still has a hand in Jaskier's undershirt, curled into the hair on his chest.

... it's really too bad that Jaskier smells so good.

Geralt rolls off him, biting back the sound of regret that would otherwise have echoed Jaskier's confused protest. Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck_. Damn the fucking mayor for not having a fucking clue how many bruxae were preying on the townsfolk.

"Geralt?" Jaskier says again.

The thing is, it's not going to get any less awkward. Jaskier's a pain in the arse, but he's Geralt's pain in the arse. He deserves more than for this to be ignored.

Then Geralt turns his head, and the problem is Jaskier- the problem is the way Jaskier _looks_ at him. Eyes huge, cheeks flushed, mouth hanging open. Geralt's memory is clear enough to know he didn't take advantage, but somehow Jaskier manages to look well-fucked anyway, and it's painfully attractive.

It would be easy to blame his behaviour last night entirely on potions, on adrenaline, on an unexpected encounter that somehow messed with his mind; it's clear from Jaskier's expression that he's expecting Geralt to do just that, to distance himself and make excuses. Geralt opens his mouth, and instead of those excuses, what comes out is, " _Jaskier_ ," in a deep rumble.

Jaskier's eyes somehow get even wider, and flick down to Geralt's mouth, then back up to meet his gaze again.

They stare at one another, and it goes on much, much too long. Jaskier's heart is racing, it's distracting, Geralt can't _think_. Hazy snatches of last night come back to him, of Jaskier squirming in his arms, of Jaskier _whimpering_.

"Jaskier," he manages again, and Jaskier visibly shivers. _I'm sorry. It was the potions. It was instinct. It didn't mean anything_. Comforting half-truths. They're right there. So easy to trot them out. So simple.

Geralt knows what he should do. He doesn't do it. He feels both wildly out of control and strangely sure of himself as he moves back into Jaskier's space, pressing his lips to Jaskier's forehead and cheeks and the corner of his mouth.

Jaskier _squeaks_ ; "Geralt?"

Geralt studies his face. He's pink, and he licks his lips, heart thrumming louder and harder, nervous, uncertain. "What?" Geralt asks, when it becomes obvious Jaskier's waiting for something.

Jaskier gulps. "Uh. Are you... have you recovered from all the... the potions and-?"

Geralt raises an eyebrow. "Yes." He kisses the other corner of Jaskier's mouth.

"Oh." Jaskier bites his bottom lip. "Geralt?"

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

There's a moment of silence, then Geralt lets out a laugh. "If you have to ask..."

To his surprise, Jaskier laughs too. " _Geralt_." He shakes his head, then - cheeky fucker - leans forwards to nip _Geralt's_ bottom lip. When he draws back, he's blushing deeply, and his smile is tentative. "I want you," he says, voice barely a whisper, "I've always wanted you, but not if it means I'm going to lose you after." He has a strange expression on his face, one that Geralt can't read, eyes bright but troubled.

"Jaskier." That shiver again. Has he always reacted that way when Geralt says his name? Geralt doesn't know how to ask, or how to explain that Jaskier is- he's- he belongs. He's Geralt's bard and Geralt's his Witcher, it's just how things are, it's how they _work_. Losing one another would be impossible, inconceivable.

"Geralt?"

"You're... _mine_ ," he tries. Jaskier's eyes flutter closed. Geralt touches his cheek, marvels at how his breathing stutters, then leans in again. Actions are easier than words; he presses a soft, insistent kiss to Jaskier's mouth, coaxes his lips open, savours his groan of need, kisses deeper, and Jaskier melts under him.

He never allowed himself to recognise before how much he wants Jaskier, how much he's craved this. It's as if the potions have broken down all his defences, and the want is a furnace, disconcerting, inescapable. Or maybe it's the knowledge that Jaskier wants _him_ badly enough to say it aloud, to go so soft, so pliant for him.

Geralt's smelled desire on him before, but this aching need, the way he shivers and whines, is impossible to ignore. The quiet, inhuman rumbling in Geralt's chest is involuntary, but Jaskier arches into him harder, as if he can't get enough, can't get _close_ enough, can't be satisfied. It doesn't seem to bother him at all that Geralt's purring like an oversized house cat. Geralt still can't quite believe he's allowed any of this after he pawed at Jaskier like he did, like he couldn't control himself (he couldn't), like an animal.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs when they surface.

Jaskier blinks up at him. "What for?"

"For last night. For-" He shakes his head.

"Why?"

Geralt's not sure if Jaskier genuinely doesn't understand or is being deliberately obtuse. Gods, he can't even think about it. "For scaring you," he says at last.

Jaskier looks at him as if he's suddenly turned purple, or something else equally as baffling. "I wasn't scared."

It's Geralt's turn to blink. "You... weren't?" He thinks back. "But I was..." Full of potions. Scary. Inhuman. _Ugly_.

"I knew you wouldn't hurt me." Jaskier shrugs a shoulder.

He says it as if it should be obvious, as if the idea of his being scared of Geralt is patently _absurd_. Granted, Geralt wouldn't hurt him on purpose, the idea is repellant, but by accident? It would be easy, far too easy.

Jaskier's looking up at him with so much trust in his eyes. He trusts Geralt far more than Geralt trusts himself. It's both humbling and frankly terrifying; no one should have such faith in him.

Geralt looks away. It's too much. He doesn't deserve it.

"Geralt." Jaskier cradles his jaw, so gentle and so kind, and Geralt can't bring himself to resist as Jaskier draws him back in and kisses his brow, his cheekbone, his lips. Another vague memory stirs, of Jaskier kissing his face, mouth soft around his eyes even when they were pitch black and lined with veins, of Jaskier whispering warm and sweet to him. Jaskier being so careful with him, not as if he were placating a monster, but calming a friend.

Geralt lets his eyes close. He can't remember the last time he felt this... _safe_. Accepted for all he is, not just for his more human characteristics, or for his ability to keep others safe. For all of himself, man and monster.

"Geralt," Jaskier whispers, so very, very quietly, breath against Geralt's lips, then Jaskier kisses him, hesitant but so clearly _wanting_ , so tender, everything Geralt never let himself think about, everything he so desperately needs, and maybe, against all the odds, he gets to have.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] take care of you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24430120) by [BabelGhoti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabelGhoti/pseuds/BabelGhoti)




End file.
